


Forget the Horrors Here

by eraleon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Character Death, M/M, ehh just a little something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraleon/pseuds/eraleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But lately, his face seems slowly sinking, wasting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget the Horrors Here

It had been a long time, way too long for Washington’s liking — But still, it seemed like it had been just yesterday.

The Freelancers were still mortal. They were not Gods. They were not undefeatable. They were not statues ; they were the static on the other ends of the radio channel. They were the flies that were all picked off, one by one. Brick by boring brick. ( Tick tock, tick tock )

Soon he would be the next to fall, soon he wouldn’t have to face the disaster that Project Freelancer had managed to scrape up. He would be able to escape the hell that he had been living, no — enduring for so long. 

He just wished they could’ve all died together. 

He wished he could’ve expressed something. Felt something.

Felt more than just bitter defeat.

They had all been manipulated and used, pawns in the hands of a God that moved every chess piece as if they were below him. To the Director, they were, and they always would be. The stacking death count didn’t matter jack shit to him, the tears and anguish was like a gust of air to a standing mountain. The nights that the Agent had spent alone, wishing that in some alternate universe, they had all died heroically together.. The way it should’ve been, the way how they all spent their time and won every battle: together.

But now, they were gone. Now, Washington was completely and utterly alone. No matter how many times he would sit on that same damned rock and tune in to the radio frequency all of the Freelancers would use whenever they didn’t want higher authorities or other soldiers other than themselves to listen, it would remind him. It was usually a lively channel filled with jokes, laughter, bickering, and —

Him.

New York. The sound of his voice used to be like that of a symphony to Washington, the flirting and lighthearted jokes always sparking some kind of unknown emotion deep within the last Freelancer. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost hear that very same voice — One of kindness, one of humour, one that had managed to give the youngest ( Or, used to be ) Agent a newfound sense of hope, of love.

But, whenever he had come to close to envisioning New York’s voice, the deafening roar of static took a crescendo until Washington couldn’t handle it any longer — And he would turn the channel off entirely.

It was irrational, he knew. It drew him insane, that he also knew. But he couldn’t help himself ; he just wanted New York again so badly. 

This isn’t how he would want me to mourn. 

Washington picked himself up, unclasping his helmet and taking it off with shaky hands fully concealed in dark grey gloves. The orange visor seemed to stare straight back at him, a hollow feeling threatening to envelop him as anger seared from deep within.

New York shouldn’t have died. It shouldn’t have been in vain. It shouldn’t have been for nothing.

It was a burning fury, one that was not easily stifled as flashbacks to the horrors that awaited Washington from the long past seemed to overtake him.

This isn’t what he what have wanted, this isn’t what he  
would have wanted, he would’ve wanted me to love myself — 

And soon, the visor was covered in crystalline liquid as the former Agent envisioned him, New York, the one with the pale tan armor and white accents, wearing the helmet. Looking back at him. The ghost in the back of his head, igniting Washington’s stifled fury in order to quell it for him to move on. To forget. To leave the horrors all behind.

That’s what New York —

York would have wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> a work that i was inspired to quickly write while i was talking with a friend of mine from tumblr !  
> it goes best with the song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eYoINidnLRQ 8)))


End file.
